


Forget

by JlockaforLock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JlockaforLock/pseuds/JlockaforLock
Summary: Those times when you hate yourself so much that all you want to do is live, live so you can experience the pain, live so that you can feel the hurt. That's exactly how John Watson feels, after several attempts of suicide because of blame all he does now is live.But is it really living if all you can feel is pain, guilt, and sadness?yep, this is a Johnlock, deal with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey  
> so I have some information you should know...I had this story in a different site and now, I'm editing the story and posting it on here. Hope you enjoy! The pages will be short.

I got up and look around warily, not another one. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my hands and head on them as I tried to forget the dream.

They were getting a lot worse, everything I did in the dream was pointless and it all ended with a loud cry of guilt.

Guilt that I couldn't save him.

Guilt I didn't see his pain.

Guilt for not being the one that died.

Every night a different dream, all nightmares, each one ending with Sherlock Holmes dying.

I got off the bed and walked into the bathroom. It had been years since I had seen myself in a mirror, only catching glimpses on the Windows. I looked horrid.

There were bags all under my eyes from the fear of and gaining more nightmares. I had a mustache that needed to be shaved, and my face has become shallow, my cheekbones were more definite now. What would Sherlock say?

I pulled up my shirt and saw mostly bone. Who would've thought that the death of Sherlock Holmes would turn me into such a sad sack?

I don't care though, I never seem to care nowadays. So not like John Watson, but then again, I wasn't the same person I was when he was alive. This is who I am now, a hollow body fueled by self loath, deprived of feelings other than guilt.

I walk to the front door of the flat not bothering to change from the clothes I had worn to bed. I walked outside not stopping to say hi to Mrs. Hudson, and directed my feet to the grave in which he was buried in.

The air was cold as, it chilled me to the bone, but I refuse to shiver or to show any emotion that might indicate that I regret not bringing a jacket of some sort.

I finally reached the graveyard. I walk to his grave making sure to focus my gaze forward as to not turn back out of shame, shame that I wasn't in one of those graves. I had tried several times to get into one of those grave, but just ended up in the hospital with recommendations to a psychiatrist.

"Hey Sherlock," I said, my voice hoarse from not speaking much "so how have you been?" I was met with silence " guess your still refusing to speak to me, that's okay, I get, don't wanna talk to the person that wasn't strong enough to save you. I'm sorry Sherlock, so sorry," I had broke down crying by now "I thought you were fine, am sorry for the words said before you died, I am truly sorry for not being the one that died please forgive me" and with that I walked out of the graveyard.

It must have been funny, seeing the John Watson, commanding army doctor, confident friend of Sherlock, writer of a very popular blog wearing pajamas that were far too baggy to be classified as a size small, crying his sunken eyes out and wiping the tears away with bony skeleton fingers. It must have been very funny indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided it was time to write some Johnlock stories. Constructive Criticism is appreciated!  
> Hope you enjoyed!


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